


To Be Human

by Olos



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Old People Can Be Idiots Too, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olos/pseuds/Olos
Summary: The Valar forgot one small detail on being human: recognizing minor illnesses.This proved to be very important information to know.





	1. Prologue

Dinner is over, and it’s only Aiwendil and I left in the dining room.

“Well, Olórin, it’s time to turn in, for me at least. I wish, tomorrow, to rise early to see the creatures of the early morning!” He smiled, enjoying the thought of tomorrow. I smiled in sympathy with him, glad to see that he is starting to adjust here.  
“Well, I might watch the stars awhile, but I bade you good night now, Aiwendil.” I start to turn to go, but he starts to rub and pinch his nose, as if concerned.  
“Is there something amiss?” I ask, turning full to face him.  
“It is my nose, it feels funny,” he explains, continuing to rub it, “but I’m sure it will be nothing. Good night!” With that, he walks off for his room.

I have a feeling this won’t be so simple.


	2. It Begins With Snot and Snails

Just after breakfast and spending some time in the city, three of the five of us stand in out joint lounge, talking.

“I believe, Olórin—Mithrandir,” Curunír says, remembering my new name, “that while the architecture is indeed interesting, it is rather simplistic.”  
I quirk an eyebrow, and say, “I have said all I can on subject, Curumo-Curunír, so I now pose the question to our companion. Aiwendil- no, Radagast, what say you?” I turn to our fellow Ithron, and see he is not paying attention to us, but seems to be preoccupied with his nose again.  
“Friend, have you heard us?” I ask, gently.

“I-yes, though I have nothing to add. But you know, Olórin- sorry, Mithrandir, my nose is bothering me again, and now it is almost painful. It feels blocked,” laments Radagast.  
“Well did you stick something up it?” Asks Curunír, raising an eyebrow.  
“No! Of course not. But, there is still something up there, I swear!” Radagast insists.

I think a moment, and say, “Now that I listen your voice does sound blocked, and, what’s the word, uh, nasalish?”  
“Nasally,” corrects Curunír.  
I raise my own eyebrow at him, but hold my peace. /Honestly, not all of us are of Heru Aulë,/ I think.

Radagast starts sniffing, as if trying to smell something, but upon scenting the air myself, I find no scents.  
“Friend, what are you smelling for?” I ask Radagast, turning to him curiously.  
“There is,-“ he sniffs again”-something dripping out of my nose,” he explains, bringing the back of his hand to the base of his nose as if to catch what is dripping.  
“Are you alright? Could it be blood?” I ask, starting to get worried.

“I was taught that blood only comes from the nose when it is injured, and I have not seen him hit his head at all today,” intones Curunír.  
“All the same, is this not to be worried over? I was told that a fluid could drip from the nose when it is cold out, but it is a pleasant day today, what could be causing this?” I ask, only half to Curunír.  
“Ai, some of it is on my hand now, and it looks like, well, snail tracks?” States Radagast, confusedly, holding his hand out for us to see. Indeed, there is a streak of clear substance that does resemble the creature’s trail.

“Are you implying that you have a snail up your nose?” I ask, mildly incredulous.  
Curunír strides forward to get a better look at Radagast’s face, looks at him for a moment, before declaring, “But no snail should be able to fit up his nose, not without his noticing.”  
“And I remember no such creature anywhere near my nose, but all the same-“ Radagast wipes his nose again, the substance sticking to his nose for a second, “I am indeed dripping a thing that is very much like snail tracks!” He pokes at the substance, and it sticks to his finger, forming a thread of slime. I turn away.

“I believe you shall be wanting of cloth to catch anymore slime that comes out your nose,” says Curunír, and with that, he left the room. Catching a glimpse of his face, he was quite disgusted.  
“Well that’s kind of him,” remarks Radagast.  
“I believe that this done perhaps not only of kindness but out of disgust of your nose’s mischief,” I muse.

 

A little while later, Curunír is back with a square of cloth.  
“Thank you, Curumo- ah, Curunír,” says Radagast.  
“Of course,” responds Curunír, before leaving again.  
The two of us left exchange a look, knowing my theory is proven true.  
“Well, those of Heru Aulë tend to be uptight sometimes,” muses Radagast, and I can’t help but agree.


	3. Headache and a Healer's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things slide further on, we grow more concerned.

After the day has concluded and we wake the next morning, we congregate in the dining room to eat. However, Radagast never shows up, and nearing the end of breakfast, I start to grow worried.  
After we all finish eating, and we are just sitting with our drinks and talking, I excuse myself and go to check on him, thinking that his previous symptoms may have worsened from when I last saw him.  
When I get to his room, I see that he is yet asleep, curled under blankets stacked far too many to be comfortable in this climate.  
I shake his shoulder gently and say quietly, “Wake up Aiwë-Radagast! You have missed breakfast, and soon shall miss a good deal of walking and council if you do not get up!”  
Bleary, red-rimmed eyes turn to me and blink slowly. “Ai, Oló-Mithrandir, sorry, what time is it?”“Well past the time you were due up, but that is no matter,” I explain, “but did you sleep alright? You seem very tired.”  
“I think I have slept enough, but my body is still weary,” says Radagast, and suddenly, he raises a hand to his head and groans. “But my head hurts worse than last night and now I’m cold.”  
“Alas that this continues for you! But all the same, how are you cold under all those blankets? I would roast!” I state.  
“I do not know, I only know that I am cold,” he shivers as if he wished to show proof, “and that I don’t wish to do anything.”  
I take counsel on my own for a moment, before saying, “I’ll have what should have been your breakfast sent up to you—it won’t do to have you starve. I will also consult Círdan on what would be a good course of action.”  
A smile creeps up Radagast’s face. “Oh, thank you.”  
“Of course, I’ll go see to it.” I return a smile and walk out.

“Círdan, this might seem odd, but Aiwë-Radagast, one of our own, is not feeling too well, and I would seek your counsel on this matter.” I say, turning to face the Elf-Lord.  
“Well, Mithrandir, what is wrong with him?” Círdan asks. “If it is not serious, I’ll ask the healer of the Edain caravan to see to him, as they would be more adept to Edain matters than my own folk.”  
“I do not think it is serious, but it has kept him to his quarters, although that could just be Oló- pardon, Mithrandir’s concern,” Curunír says, gesturing to me.  
“I believe my concern to be acceptable, Curu- sorry, Curunír, but none the less I do not think this is life altering. However, he is not feeling his best and I would help him if I could,” I reply.  
Círdan looks at both of us before saying, “I will ask the healer if they can do anything.”

By late afternoon the healer walks in, wearing simple traveling clothes and a bag in hand. “So,” he asks, “Where is your sick one?”  
“Please, follow me,” I say, appointed to the role of caretaker for the evening long before the healer arrived.  
The two of us walk into Radagast’s room and we see that Radagast has cast the blankets off onto the floor, and lies, in naught but night-clothes, spread out as far as he could be. I have the sudden urge to turn away for his dignity.

The healer is not concerned with the state of dress however, and walks over to Radagast’s bedside, and asks, “So, sir, what troubles you?”The other wizard sniffles before answering, “My nose feels stuffed, and no matter how much, slime? comes out it will not change.” He shows the man his cloth, now well stained by slime, and continues. “My head hurts, I am tired more than I ought to be, and I keep swinging between feeling too hot and too cold, even though the room is not doing that.”  
The healer smiles gently and says, “Well it sounds like a simple head-cold to me, but I’ll just examine you briefly to confirm.”  
Radagast nods, and the healer touches his forehead. “Figures, you probably have a high heat. Yea, you just have a head-cold. Rough, and sometimes miserable, but you should recover in a week,” the healer explains.  
His patient raises an eyebrow, and rolls over, muttering, “Sometimes miserable? This is miserable since, ah, last night! I do hope this goes quickly.”  
“So do I,” responds the healer.  
“So do I” I echo slowly, pacing it as a silent prayer. /We ought to travel and leave Círdan’s city soon, hopefully within the month, but loath am I to leave him behind, but if he remains ill, we may have to/ I think solemnly. I must trust to hope that it does not end so.


End file.
